


Panic

by ashesinyourhair



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesinyourhair/pseuds/ashesinyourhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a panic attack at the thought of not hunting with Sam anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic

Sam is out when it happens, and he’d be glad, except that that feeling is way out of reach right now.

He’s cleaning his gun, and glances across the room, eyes falling on Sam’s bag. Suddenly it’s eight years ago, and the bag Sam tosses in the trunk is so much lighter than his own because Sam’s not planning to stick around.

Dean’s mind barely brushes the thought of doing this alone, and there’s a weight pressing down on him, and his breaths won’t fill his lungs. He sets the gun on the bed, hands suddenly weak and useless. Trembling. Slipping from control.

He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath, hard, willing his body to still even as it threatens to fly apart. His heart shivers and stutters, as though any second it might lose the rhythm entirely and shut down. Fingers dig into the bedspread, clutch the fabric in fists, anything to hold onto. Short, shallow gasps, room tilting around him.

He tries not to pray it, doesn’t want to, would almost rather fly to pieces than let the thought in, but it comes anyway. A sound he wants so badly to hear, he could almost swear it’s real: a soft rustle of wings, of air rushing out of a now-occupied space. A presence standing before him, now lowering itself to his level. Close enough to touch, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to break the spell.

He doesn’t really open his eyes, but in his mind he does, and meets another pair of eyes gazing steadily at him. Solid and calm.

_“Dean.”_

The word falls on his mind like a feather, nothing his ears really heard. He doesn’t dare look away, even as dark feathers crowd the edges of his vision and a tingling warmth begins to surround him. Something tells him he shouldn’t look directly at these wings, that he can’t really see them, not even in his head. So he holds his gaze and feels them wrap around his body, his back muscles twitching and flinching until he lets himself relax into the strange, not-quite-tactile sensation.

A slow, easy breath slides past his lips.

 _“Thanks, Cas,”_ he says, not aloud.

Castiel smiles, almost too softly to see. Dean hesitates, takes a careful breath. And opens his eyes.

The motel room is empty.

Dean lets out the breath, runs his hand over his face. His skin is damp, the tears he hadn’t noticed already half-dried. He pushes up off the bed, picks up the gun and cloth. As he packs them away, the calm, steadying sensation lingers, so that when he glances at Sam’s things, fear only prods him in the chest rather than knocking him over.

He knows this probably won’t be the last one. He doesn’t know if he can summon the vision again, or if he’ll have to ride out the panic on his own. But for now it’s passed, and the calming feeling remains, and fades away very slowly over the course of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> [Cross-posted to tumblr.](http://asheswrites.tumblr.com/post/45998977262/panic)


End file.
